Just One Wish
by ForgottenNight
Summary: An accident and hurtful words cause Sam to throw himself into hunting. Will he become cold and distant or will his family be able to save him in time? Teenchesters Sam- 13 Dean- 17. Thanks for reading.
1. Chapter 1

Sam could hear them whispering in the kitchen. They were obviously talking about him. It was an argument. Well not a argument, Dad saved those for him, it was more of a disagreement.

He strained to hear the muffled words. Once in awhile a word, broke through because of their raised voices. Yep, defiantly a disagreement.

Sam slide down to the next stair. He was as close as he could possibly be without getting caught. He was so close that he could see Dean's back hunched over the table trying to find the minuscule fact that would prevent Sam from going on the hunt.

"Dean he's old enough now, and we need the help."

"He just learned how to shoot not that long ago. It's too dangerous."

"You went out and hunted when you were thirteen. He's going, that's final."

"But..."

"No, he's going. Maybe he'll learn to man up and take responsibility" Dean sighed in annoyance.

Sam gritted his teeth in anger. It took all his willpower from marching in there and yelling at his father. His hands were clenched at his sides.

A comfortable silence emitted from the kitchen. Dean had obviously given up the fight. No one ever won against John in a fight, well not in his eyes.

Sam flashed back on his fathers words, and anger rose in him again. He would prove to his Dad that he could be the obedient child, the perfect hunting partner. Prove to him that he could be like Dean.

Sam considered just walking into the kitchen, reviling that he had heard everything that they had said. He didn't though. Instead he quietly walked up the stairs, and ran down them as nosily as possible, announcing his arrival.

Neither Dean nor his dad looked up from their work. Anger bubbled up higher, and Sam couldn't stop the comment from coming out. "So what are you working on?"

Dean jerked his head up in surprise, "Uh... just details on the next hunt. Sammy."

"It's Sam, and do I get to go on this one, or am I just staying in the car?"

Dean visibly flinched at this. "Dad thinks it would be good if you got some in the field training."Sam looked at his Dad briefly who was too engrossed on writing in his damn journal to pay attention to their conversation.

"Well princess you better go up and get your beauty sleep, looks like we're going to be up all night." Dean responded.

"What are we hunting?" Sam looked at the table. It was full of maps of the dense forestry near the house that they were renting.

"Something called a Fenrir."

"A what?"

"Fenrir. According to Norse mythology it's a gigantic, terrible, wolf. It's been preying on local hunters and hikers"

"Does it tell you how to kill it."

"Silver through the heart."

Sam flipped through the Norse mythology book on the table. "Is that it?"

"That's the fugly; gotta say one of his better pictures though." Sam couldn't contain his yawn, "Am I boring you there, Sammy?" Dean asked in mock horror. "Well you better go get your sleep, Dad wants to be in the wood by seven.

"I can stay up and prepare the gear." Sam argued.

Dean gave a long stare and answered slowly." There's no need, Dad and I already did. Is there something you want to tell me?"

"No why?"

"You've never offered to prepare the gear. You hate hunting, and now you suddenly embrace it?"

"I'm fine Dean." Sam called out over his shoulder on his way out of the kitchen. He knew that Dean would figure out what he was doing if he stayed any longer.

* * *

Seven o'clock snuck up on Sam. Before he knew it, he was stepping out of the Impala into the warm June air. The forest looked forbidding and Sam dreaded the next few hours he would be spending in it. Although instead of complaining about the hunt, he took the gun, like a man. His father should be so proud.

He stood beside Dean when their father barked out commands. Saying yes sir and no sir at all the right places. He was going to prove himself to his dad this time.

With that they decided to head into the woods. After thirty minutes Dean speed up to talk to Sam. "So Sammy, you going to tell me what's going through your big head?" Sam rolled his eyes and speed up.

"Oh touchy." Dean looked at him for a moment. "You're not going to tell me are you?"

"Nope"

"I'll get it out of you after this hunt."

Just then John yelled back, "Sammy get you ass back in line." Sam speed up and looked back at Dean who shrugged.

Hours went by and Sam was pissed. They had been out here for hours and they were no closer to finding the thing. The temperature had dropped with the sun, so it was freezing.

Sam dropped back to talk to Dean, "this is pointless, we're no closer to finding this thing. We should just go home.

Dean just shrugged, not wanting to hear the kid's complaints. They walked in silence after that.

A few minutes later Sam heard a twig break behind them. He jerked his head around, but all that was there was trees. "Did you hear that?"

"What?"

"That twig breaking."

"No..."

Sam heard it again, "There again."

"Maybe we should tell Dad it's time to leave and come back tomorrow" Dean said looking concern.

Sam knew he sounded crazy and began to walk again. Sam heard the noise, this time louder, closer. He turned around and saw the source of the noise. The Fenrir was stalking the outskirts of Sam's vision, slowly making its way toward him. Sam's mouth opened in a silent scream of fear, but he closed it swiftly when bile rose.

Dean stopped a few feet ahead and noticed Sam had fallen a few feet behind. "Come on Sammy, Dad need you... Holy shit. Don't move." Dean's face turned a deathly white color.

"Okay" Sam's voice answered brokenly.

"Don't panic, Dad will take care of this." Dean left for a brief minute and Sam's fear increased tenfold. He heard running and soon Dean and his dad were standing a few yards away from him.

"Dad can you get the shot?"

"No, Sammy's in the way." His dad yelled louder. "I need you to drop on the count of three. One."

"What?"

"Two, three." Sam dropped to the ground, landing heavily. The gunshot rang out, and Sam looked back to see if the wolf was finished. Instead it was running in the way that they had just come from.

Dad took off after it, following the trail of blood. Dean went over to make sure Sam was alright. "You ok?"

The truth was that he was terrified. His shaking was evidence of this. "Yeah" he muttered.

Dean look over him, making sure there wasn't any injuries. "Come on, we need to help Dad."

They ran in the direction that the wolf and their dad had taken off in. The trail of blood lead them into a clearing. They stood to the side and watched their dad search the perimeter. "Trail ends here so it has to be around here." John called to them.

Sam and Dean split up searching the outskirts of the trees. Sam turned and his stomach dropped. Across the field the Fenrir was stalking his prey. Dean.

Sam raised his gun, firing. Two shots rang out. Sam looked to his father and saw he too had his gun raised. Sam turned back to the scene. The Fenrir laid on the ground, dead.

Dean stood still with a dazed look. He fell to his knees and took his hands off his stomach. They were red, blood red.

Sam dropped his gun and ran. Tears spilled down his face. Dean had been shot and deep down San knew he was the shooter.

_To be continued..._

**Firstly, I don't own Supernatural. Secondly this is a Sam angst, not Dean so keep that in mind. Lastly, Fenrir is an actual monster, although I added more to it. As far as I know it is a single wolf, not a race of mutant wolves, and it doesn't die from silver. I just didn't want to use a Wendigo. **


	2. Chapter 2

Sam ran faster then he had ever run before, although it didn't seem to matter. The clearing seemed to be miles wide. With every step he lost the anger he held against Dean.

Slowly, almost as if it was in slow motion, Dean started to fall forward. Sam pushed himself harder, and he fell to his knees in front of Dean. He put his arms around him, baring his weight.

His hands that had been resting on Dean's back was heavily coated in the thick, red liquid. He lifted his hand and watched the blood drip from it.

Sam couldn't help the bile that rose up in him, and that he let spill onto the grass next to him. He replaced his hands on the wound, despite his reluctance. He had to stop the bleeding.

He felt a tugging on his arms, but he held on tighter. He buried his head into Dean's shirt, desperately seeking the comfort it usually brings. Instead of smelling of cheap soap, cologne, and overall Dean, it reeked of copper and rust. Sam had to move his head from the offending smell.

He lifted his head from Dean's shoulder, only to have it whipped to the side. A loud slapping noise echoed in the still silence. Pain erupted on his cheek, and he slowly meets his dad's eyes. The cold, hard look in John eyes made Sam want to curl up and die. John words made Sam's heart stutter and clench, "Pull yourself together. We need to get out of here and get Dean to a hospital. Get your ass up and do something useful."

Sam gently laid Dean on the ground before obediently standing up. His dad came over and checked Dean's pulse. It was slow and sluggish under his fingertips. Dean's breath was quick and rugged. They didn't have long.

John took off his backpack and handed to Sam, before he leaned over and picked Dean up, grunting under the weight. He took off in what Sam could only assume was the way to the car. Sam put the backpack on, stumbling from the weight, and followed his dad.

The hike to the car wasn't very long. Apparently they had made a loop when they were looking for the Fenrir. It was a good hour long though, an hour that harmed Dean with every passing minute.

When the car finally came in view, Sam sighed in relief. His dad commanded him to get the extra towels and blankets out of the trunk, and Sam immediately responded. He neatly laid them out before his dad laid Dean on the backseat.

Sam crawled in beside Dean, lifting his head and laying it on his lap. Dean looks so pale and sick. The slamming of the trunk snapped Sam back into reality. His dad opened his door and handed him two pills and water. "Give these to him. And Sam?" Sam hesitantly looked into his eyes. "We're going to have a long talk about this later." Sam looked at his feet and nodded.

Sam looked down at Dean and tried to wake him. "Dean, Dean, come on wake up."

"S'my?"

"I'm right here. Take these." Sam put them in his mouth and sat him up so he could swallow some water. "How you feel?"

"L'ke s'it"

"We're going to the hospital now."

"No Hosp'al"

"You have to go."

"'k" Dean said giving up the fight, "Why do I n'd hosp'al?" Dean's features relaxed, the pain killers finally kicking in.

"You don't remember?" Sam asked alarmed.

"We were in the woods and the Fenrir was beside me. And a gun shot. And I looked to see who shot. Oh God, it was you. You shot me. I told Dad not to give you a gun. Why did you miss? If you didn't whine all the time you wouldn't be such a screw up." Dean's drug induced words hit Sam hard. He turned his head to stare out the window, and a single tear escaped.

* * *

The ride to the hospital added an extra thirty minutes. Dean had been panting and unresponsive for the last ten of them, when the hospital came into view. John hazardously parked the Impala into a vacant spot and rushed around to get Dean. He gently picked him up and carried him to the ER with Sam close on his heels.

The automatic doors opened and the ER erupted into chaos. The secretary, sitting at the desk, mouth opened in shock, "Oh my God, what happened?"

"Hunting accident, got shot by a shotgun."

The lady stood in shock for a moment, before using the intercom system "Doctor Rogers report the ER immediately, Dr Rogers."

A stretcher was brought in and Dean was laid upon it, before they wheeled it away. A man who Sam could only assume was Dr. Rogers, was talking to his dad. They're words were blurred and Sam couldn't listen. He just wanted to lay down and forget this day, but, he couldn't. He had to stay up to make sure Dean was alright. To visit him when he was better.

He sat down in one of the waiting room seats and drew his knees to his chest. Sam didn't know how long he's sat like this. The pain in his lower back indicates that it's been awhile, but he doesn't want to move. Dean's in a lot more pain than this.

His dad doesn't show any sign of knowing Sam is there. He just paces back and forth, muttering insults and curses. Once in awhile, when Sam's name is thrown in, he curls up in on himself more, wishing that his dad would stop.

The same doctor reappears and is talking to his dad. After a few minutes, he comes and sits in front of Sam. He uses the penlight, flashing it in Sam's eyes, but he doesn't react quickly enough.

Sam curls up tighter and covers his ears. The doctor and his father are arguing about something. Shouldn't they be taking care of Dean? Sam struggles to stand up to tell them that he is ok, Dean is the one they should be concerned with.

When he stands the world tilts and turns. The floor gives one big lurch, and everything turns black.

_To be continued_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Thanks for all the reviews, I really appreciated ya'll taking the time to leave one. This is really late, I'm sorry. So now I'm going to bribe you with an extra long chapter. Did it work, did you forgive me? I hope so. Enjoy.**_

When Sam woke up, he could hear someone pacing. He could almost convinced himself that it was any normal morning. That when he opened his eyes Dean would look at him and sarcastically call him Sleeping Beauty. That their dad would stop pacing and talking on the phone long enough to break up the fight that had not started yet. That he would eat in a rush so he could make it to school on time.

He could almost convince himself. He could tell that the pacing was not his father's. He listened for a minute for Dean's even breaths, but they were not there. A second passed before last night's memories assaulted him.

He shot Dean. Dean could be dead.

Sam tore his eyes open, grasping in fear. He glanced around the room, not seeing what he wanted to. He had to find Dean now.

A dull ache alerted him to the IV attacked to the back of his hand. For a moment Sam stopped and wondered why he had one. He wasn't hurt, so why was he being treated as a patient? Sam's desire to find Dean overruled his curiosity. He grabbed the IV line and gritted his teeth. This was going to hurt like hell. He counted backwards from three before pulling the IV out.

A hiss of pain escaped between Sam's clenched teeth. Next he took off the heart monitor clip on his finger. The quick and steady beep that had been his heart stopped. In the place was one constant beep, that indicated his heart stopped.

He knew he had to leave then. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and quietly got up. He would have made it out of the room if it wasn't for the dizziness. It hit him halfway to the door. It had him stumbling to find anything to keep him upright. The small table was the only thing, and Sam winced and his knee painfully came into contact with it. He clutched it for dear life, wishing the dizziness would stop, until the door opened.

Sam sank to his knees as Uncle Bobby walked though the door. Dad wouldn't call Bobby unless it was bad, really bad. He landed with an oof as his body connected with the floor. He could hear Bobby yelling for a doctor. The two of them ran back into the room and took in the scene.

The doctor walked up next to Sam and took a seat next to him. He cautiously reached out his hand to check Sam's pulse. That's when all hell broke lose. Sam reacted instinctively. He knocked the doctor's hand out of the way, and panicked. He tried to look for another escape route, but the only one was still blocked by Bobby.

He could hear someone talking to him, "Don't freak out you idjit."

Don't freak out? He was freaking the hell out. Why wasn't anyone saying anything about Dean?

"Dean?" That couldn't have been him. The voice was too high pitched and squeaky.

Comprehension dawned on Bobby's face. "Dean's fine."

The fight flew out of Sam with one swoop, leaving him utterly tired. The doctor slowly reproached him. "You scared us there for awhile."

Sam memory drew up a blank, "huh?"

The doctor nodded knowingly. "You fainted in the waiting room. Gave me quit a scare."

Sam looked at he's feet. Once again they were making it all about him. "Oh."

"You ready to get back in the bed?"

Bobby interrupted quickly, "Do you think that maybe Sam could visit Dean."

The doctor nodded, "I'll talk to Dean's doctor, but we were going to discharge him anyways when he woke up."

"Thanks Doc." Bobby said while the doctor left the room. An uncomfortable silence grew over the room. After a few minutes Bobby sat in the only chair the room had to offer.

"Why are you here?" The question came off harsher then Sam had wanted.

"Your Daddy was worried about you two."

"He was worried about me?" Doubt clouded Sam's voice.

The question hung in the air for a fraction too long. "Of course he is, he loves you boys." Sam peeked in between his bangs, Uncle Bobby was lying. Sam's heart gave a painful tug. He was suddenly was overwhelmed by penitence.

Luckily the door opened, giving Sam the opportunity to wipe the lone tear that streaked his face. The doctor talked to Bobby before releasing him. "Now I want to warn you before you see your brother. Be careful, he's hooked up to some machines, and I don't want you to accidently pull them out." The doctor gave a pointed glance at his bandaged hand.

"Yes sir." Sam whispered hanging his head.

The doctor patted his knee, trying to be comforting, and left. Instead it made Sam feel worse. He got off the bed and followed the Bobby out of the room. He followed him through the hallways of the hospital, until they stopped in front of a door. With a shaking hand he reach out and opened the door.

Dean laid unconscious on the bed. He was so pale that it looked like he could be dead. Sam cautiously approached the bed, standing beside it awkwardly. His hand in mid-reach to Dean's flaccid one, but he couldn't bring himself to reach across those last few inches.

The click of the door behind Sam startled him. His dad entered carrying a cup of coffee. He gave Bobby a curt nod, then looked at Sam with a hardened look. "So you're better." There was no emotion in his voice. It sounded dead, and that hurt more then yelling.

Sam's gaze instantly went to his feet. "Yes, sir."

"Well there's no reason for you to be here anymore is there?"

"But, De-"

"But, nothing. I can't have you trip and further injure him."

"Yes, sir." It came out nothing more then a whisper.

"Look at me when you're talking."

Something in Sam snapped when he looked into his father's eyes, "I said yes sir."

Fire burned in John's eyes. "I think I'll have to help you lose this attitude you've developed."

"John," Bobby said, interrupting the standoff between the two. "Can we talk in the hallway."

"Not now, I'm busy."

Bobby put a hand on John's shoulder, "I think it's the perfect time."

John broke the staring contest that had been happening and looked at Bobby. "Fine," then he turned back to Sam, and in a growl said, "be careful." The treat was clear. Be careful or else.

The click of the door soon told Sam he was alone with Dean. He hesitantly reached out and took Dean's hand. "I'm so sorry."

The voices it the hallway got louder and closer. Sam dropped Dean's hand before his dad's voice reached him "... You can't tell me how to punish my children Bobby. That's my job."

The door reopened and Sam's dad walked in. "Bobby's going to take you home. I want you to keep up with the training program and I don't want you to stop for the night until you've hit all ten cans. You hear me."

"Yes sir."

"I'll check up on you tomorrow, you better have all ten cans shot by then." The dismissal was clear. Sam quietly shut the door behind him and walked up to Bobby. Bobby's face was twisted up in anger.

"Son, let's get you home."

_**OK not as long as I wanted, but this is were I felt was the end of the chapter**_. _**Thanks for reading.**_

_**~FN**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Thank you for the reviews!**_

The air in the truck was suffocating. It hung heavy and dense. Neither Sam nor Bobby talked, creating an awkward silence that increased the tension building in the 's fingers itched to open the window, to get some fresh air. Instead he settled for picking at a loose string on his jeans.

The silence stretched the entire drive. The air grew more constricting by the minute. Sam nearly sighed in relief when he saw the Winchester house of the week. A sense of tiredness overcame him, and he wanted nothing more then to go to sleep for a long time, but then his father's face, red from yelling, entered his mind. He gritted his teeth in frustration. He would prove himself this time. He had to.

The truck pulled into the driveway, and before Bobby had time to turn it off, Sam was rushing to the front door. Sam got the door unlocked and disappeared into the house, and Bobby knew this was going to be harder then he had thought.

He slowly got out of the truck and made his way to the house. He tried to come up with excuses to delay Sam's training, and came up with a good one: food. Sam had to be hungry, he hadn't eaten in a few hours.

Bobby entered the house, and looked around. The house was decent, better then the last few he knew the Winchesters had stayed in. He found the kitchen and looked for the pots and pans, and just as he found them Sam entered the kitchen.

Sam was already outfitted in sweats and t-shirt, carrying a gun. He didn't look at Bobby when he tried to go out the back door. Bobby sidestepped him before he could go any further. "Do you want any food boy?"

"No." Sam's one word answer sound cruel and gave him the message, to leave him alone, but Bobby couldn't do that.

"You gotta be hungry. When was the last time you ate?"

"I'm not hungry." Sam tried to step around Bobby, only to be blocked again.

"When was the last time you ate Sam?" Bobby's frustration was apparent, and the question came out harsh.

"I dunno a few hours before the hunt." Sam's voice came out a little more then a whisper.

"What am I going to do with your daddy? It's settled then you'll eat and then you can train." Sam winced at this plan, and Bobby sighed. "What's the problem?"

"We never eat before training."

"What's that suppose to mean? You always eat then train at my house."

"Yeah, at your house, everywhere else Dad makes us train, then we can have dinner."

"But why?" Bobby asked suspiciously.

"I think it makes Dad feel as though he has an incentive to make us do better."

Bobby felt anger rising in him, he was seriously thinking of shooting John. 'Damn it John, you can't train your children like dogs, giving them treats and food after they've done good.' Bobby thought. He then made up his mind; next time he saw Winchester he would fill his ass with buckshot.

"Well I'm the adult here, so this is my house, and I say you eat before you train." Sam's face clearly told his unhappiness of the order. "How about you stretch and warm up while I cook, and then come eat, before doing the rest of your training?" Sam grunted his acknowledgment and went outside, leaving Bobby even more confused.

* * *

John couldn't stop pacing the room. He stop trying to figure out if it was out anger or worry. He just paced. Dean still had yet to wake up, and even though the doctor said that this was normal, John felt concerned.

His hands scrubbed his face. What was he going to do with Sam? How could he screw up so badly that it made Dean pay the price? Irritation took hold of his pacing now. He decided Sam could forget this being a summer vacation, this was going to be hunter boot camp.

John was so in his own little world of anger, that he didn't realize that Dean had awoken. All Dean wanted was pain killers. He opened his eyes and was momentary confused. It looked like he was in a hospital room. Why... his eyes fell on John. The way that he moved suggested anger.

The previous hunting trip came in a rush of memories, and Dean only wanted to know one thing, "Where's Sammy."

John paused in mid-stride, his eyes meeting Dean's. He felt nothing but relief until his words registered. "Sam is at the house." His voice was hard and angry.

"Why?"

"Because he messed up and he needs more training."

"I want to see him." Dean hated how whiny he sounded, but he had to tell Sam that everything was ok. That he forgave him.

"No..." Dean tried to cut in, "I said no Dean. He is being punished right now."

"It was one mistake!"

"It only takes one mistake to kill you, I don't want to hear this Dean. Leave it alone."

Dean couldn't, no matter his dad's orders. "But..."

"Dean Winchester do I have to punish you too?"

"No sir," Dean whispered, "Just don't go too hard on him." John just ignored the final sentence and sat on the seat beside Dean's bed.

* * *

Sam was exhausted. He had been shooting for over a hour. His shoulder hurt like hell from all the backlash of the gun, but he couldn't stop. He had yet to hit all the cans in one try. His dad was going to be pissed.

Bobby had called him for dinner a little over fifteen minutes ago, but Sam had lost his appetite. He could barely hit seven out of ten cans, if he was lucky eight. He was also getting progressively worse the longer he tried. His arms screamed for a break, but that wasn't the Winchester way.

Sam prepared for another round. Ten shots rang out, but only four hit their mark. Sam let out a frustrated yell and threw the gun onto the ground. He felt tears burning his eyes, when he felt someone put their hands on his shoulders.

"I think it's time for dinner." Bobby's voice was quiet, and Sam let himself be lead into the kitchen.

Dinner was quiet. Bobby had tried to start conversation with Sam, but Sam never took the bait.

Suddenly loud footsteps were heard on the front porch. Sam's face paled so much that Bobby wondered for a second if he was going to pass out. The front door opened, and the meal in front of them was forgotten. John walked in and saw the fear in Sam's eyes, and he knew he had not completed his orders.

"So you finished training?"

"Yes, sir" The lie came out easily

"How was training."

"Good."

"So you hit all ten cans?"

The pause was half a second too long, "Yes."

"Good then you won't mind showing me."

_**To be continued**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Thanks for all the reviews, and a thanks to Kazamigorical, who gave a push and shove for this chapter.**_

"_Good then you won't mind showing me."_

Sam's stomach dropped, and he immediately wished he hadn't ate dinner. An unpleasant taste lingered in his mouth, and he fought to keep from retching.

He was screwed.

A mantra of cuss words entered his head before he gave a forced smile to his father. "No, Sir."

John just gestured toward the door, motioning for Sam to go first. Sam dutifully got up and walk through the door with John right behind him. Sam looked at the stretch between the back door and the fence, it seemed like miles. With every step Sam lost some of the calmness that he was striving to keep.

By the time they made it to the fence, his nerves were shot. He jumped at every little noise, including the grunt of disapproval he got when the finally reached the site. His gun still laid in the mud and cans laid littered around. He wasn't going to get any brownie points for this.

He gently picked the gun up. The side that was face down was caked in mud. Sam tried to wipe some of it off with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, but it was a hopeless cause. Hours of precise cleaning would only make it shine again. Sam knew he was beyond screwed at this point.

John was tired of waiting on the kid. The target range was a disaster. Cans and even his gun laid on the ground. What was the kid thinking? He just expects Dean to come and clean up all his messes, but that's going to end tonight. He marched over to Sam and looked at the gun. Anger rose is him. "Samuel Winchester..."

'Shit' was all Sam could think when his dad used his full name. His dad was pissed. Sam prepared himself for the yelling, but it never came. Sam raised his head to see Bobby standing between him and his dad.

"Bobby, you better mind your own damn business."

"Protecting that boy is my business. It's a gun John, you'll have it clean by tomorrow."

"You saw how bad it was, I'm going to have to replace it if it doesn't dry right."

"Then you can just go buy a new one."

"Guns cost money, money we don't have. That was one of our best guns."

"I know that you damn fool, I'm the one who gave it to you." The two men glared at each other, neither faltering for several minutes, before entering another intense argument.

Sam hated the way they were talking about him. He just wanted this day to end. He picked up the gun from the ground again, and dusted it off. His actions broke the argument up. Both men stared at his every action, looking for a fault.

He loaded the gun with bullets, praying the gun would work. He looked at the fence. Ten cans stood in his way of approval. Ten stupid pieces of metal.

He lined up for the first shot. His hands were shaking horribly, creating a difficult shot. His finger inched onto the trigger. Sam took a big breath., and the gun went off in his hand. One down, nine to go. He aimed for the second can. He had it lined perfectly, until his dad sneezed. Sam jumped at the sudden noise. His finger pulled the trigger, sending the bullet far from it's mark.

The next few cans he hit every other time. He could feel the disappiontment radiating from his father. The ping of the last can is the last sound before everything falls silent. He hit six in all. More then half, but worse then his average. Sam hung his head, and the trio stood in the deafening silence for a few minutes. Sam raised his head and looked toward his father. He was running his hand across his face as if he had a headache. John met Sam's eyes and spoke "Start running."

"What?" Sam was terrified. He had never seen his dad like this before.

"You disobeyed a direct order, start running."

"But..."

"Now!"

Sam jumped at his tone, "For how long."

"Until _I_'m tired of watching you." Sam stood in shock, "Don't make me count to three."

Sam took off running. After thirty minutes his dad still haven't told him to stop. Sam felt like he was dying. His shoulder burned from the earlier practices, and nearly everything else ached and burned. His breathes grew labored and difficult. He grew light-headed and knew he had to stop soon.

His feet shuffled across the ground, until they made contact with a tree root. He tumbled to the ground, colliding with it, only to make a few more aches apparent. Sam fought his body to drag himself upright, but managed to remain situated on the ground.

Boots entered the edge of his vision, "Get up."Sam manage to pull himself up to a standing position, before John gave more orders. "What's the Latin exorcism for most lower demons?"

Sam's mind was like a clouded puddle. It took a few minutes to remember the first word, let alone the entire thing. The Latin verse came out sloppily. He mixed up every few words and slurred the rest. When he finished it was defiantly not a job well done.

"That was pathetic."

"I'll do better tomorrow, I'm just tired."

"See that attitude is the one that caused this problem. You need to suck it up and be a Winchester."Sam's heart ached, he wasn't even considered a Winchester by his father. "Drop and give me fifty."

Sam fell to the ground obediently. Maybe his dad was right. Maybe if he was more like Dean, he wouldn't have caused all the pain that he had. So he did what Dean would have done, he dropped and gave his father what he wanted without hesitating.


	6. Chapter 6

For a second after Sam woke up, he thought he was dead. Then the pain hit. Death couldn't hurt this much. Every muscle screamed in agony. Every ache he had yesterday was multiplied by ten. The aches reached all the way to his bones, and it felt as though all of them were breaking. Sam would have chosen death, if given the chance.

He didn't want to get up. He wanted to lay in bed and suffer alone. He just wanted to sleep and forget yesterday, but there was little chance of that. His dad would come and wake him up soon.

Sam opened his eyes and blinked against the bright sun. It was later then he usually woke up. A lot later. Has his dad forgotten to wake him up? Sam scoffed at the idea, his dad just wouldn't forget to wake him. There had to be a reason. Had something happened at the hospital?

Sam's heart shuddered and a chill ran over him. Dean. He had to get up and make sure he was alright. With a groan he lifted his legs over the edge of the bed. Using the bedside table for balance, he managed to stand upright. The pain in his body became a dull ache, that pulsed with his heart. He felt light-headed and his legs threatened to collapse under him.

He slowly trundled down the stairs. Whimpered noises escaped his lips, but he tried his best to hold them back. He was a Winchester, he had to remain strong. Show no pain or weakness. After he maneuvered himself down the stairs, he went into the kitchen. Only Bobby sat at the table.

He didn't even look up and Sam felt a strong sense of deja vu. He lowered himself into the nearest seat before coughing loudly. Bobby jumped in surprise. "There you are ya idjit. You done imitating the dead?"

Sam suddenly missed his and Dean's usual banter over sleeping late. "Where's Dad."

"Your Daddy is back at the hospital with Dean."

"Is Dean alright? Nothing bad has happened-" An edge of panic was in his voice.

Bobby quickly cut him off, "Everything's fine, he just might be able to come home today."

Sam let out a breath of air that he didn't know that he was holding. Dean was fine. Good actually, or at least well enough to come home. Sam was going to be able to see him for the first time after the accident. He was going to be able to apologize. Suddenly his day looked brighter.

"When's he coming home?"

Bobby shrugged, "I'm just waiting for your daddy to call with the information." The shrill of the house phone punctuated what he just said. Sam bounced up and down slightly. It was his dad. He could feel it.

Bobby reached over and answered it. "Singer." Sam strained to hear what his dad said, but heard nothing. All he could hear was Bobby's side of the conversation.

"Hey John, so when are you and Ace coming back?"

"Tell him I can't wait for him to out of there either."

"Uh huh, I see." Bobby's voice sounded angry.

"What are you trying to say Winchester?"

"You know damn well that's just going to make it worse." Bobby stood up and began pacing the length of the kitchen.

"No, I will not be apart of your crazy ass plans."

A deafening silence took place in the kitchen for a few minutes. The only noise was Bobby's pacing on the squeaky wood floor. Bobby's face was screwed up in concentration on the conversation at hand. "Fine Winchester you win, but only because God knows what you would do to the poor boy if ya'll went on a hunt together." Bobby angrily hung up the phone. He fell into the chair he was previously sitting in, and after a moment he seemed to deflate.

"Your Daddy is an idjit, you know that?" Sam remain silent, scared of the news he was going to get. "Jim called with a hunt up in Minnesota, wanted to know if your daddy wanted to take it, and apparently he volunteered me. He also said that you would be my backup."

"But, I don't want to leave Dean. I have to help him get better." Sam desperately answered.

"I know but your father seems to think it would be better if you went on the hunt. The hard-headed fool."

"But I want to stay here." Sam's voice came out a little more then a whisper.

"I know you do, but it's not open to debate. We need to leave."

"I haven't seen Dean yet, can please wait until they get home?"

A resigned expression appears on Bobby's face, and in a blink of an eye its gone. "Can't whatever's in Minnesota is scheduled to kill again tonight. Gotta get there as soon as possible."

"But-"

"Sam... I told you it wasn't open to debate."

Sam had done what he had been trying to avoid. He went back to being the whiny kid, dropping the obedient kid act immediately. He gritted his teeth in frustration, "Yes sir." He replied coldly, before turning to go get his duffle from his room.

* * *

Seeing the sudden change in Sam scared Bobby. The kid answered almost like a robot. He didn't really fight Bobby on staying, and that concerned him. The boys were damn near connected at the hip and John Winchester was doing his best to separate them.

Bobby couldn't imagine what John would do to Sam if he was the one taking him on the hunt. Bobby was considering shooting John full of buckshot the next time he saw him. Bobby didn't get much further in his plans, because Sam returned downstairs. They loaded the truck and prepared themselves for the long trip.

* * *

Dean was ready to go back to the house. The hospital was a nightmare. The hospital without Sammy was downright hell. He hadn't seen the kid in three days, and he was getting anxious. So when his dad informed him that he was here to sign Dean out, he nearly hug hugged the man. He would get to see his Sammy again.

Of course his dad neglected to tell him one fact; that Sam wouldn't be there for another couple of weeks. Dean rested comfortable in the back seat of the Impala, when his dad decided to break the news. "Bobby found another hunt, so he's not going to be at the house." Dean shrugged indifferently. "He had to find a backup since I couldn't be there to help him."

"So Caleb's with him?"

"No, Caleb had his own hunt he had to take care of, so I told Bobby to take Sam."

"WHAT? No, no, no. No. You didn't."

"Yes, I figured if he couldn't learn from the best then there's no hope for him then."

"I hate you." The words formed from Dean's mouth automatically, and he didn't hesitate to say them.

"Dean..." John's voice gave a warning, but Dean refused to apologize. He turned his body to look out the side window, as they neared the house. A truck speedily passed them, traveling in the opposite direction, carrying his Sammy away.

_**To Be Continued **_


End file.
